Middie Une: Child Spy
by Elly Leaverton
Summary: Have Middie and her twin brothers taken on more than they can handle? Will an encounter with the colony resistance spell the end of their days as spies? Set before the TV Show. Rated PG13 for mild violence. Finished.
1. Default Chapter

Maybe if she hadn't gone to that meeting with Jake, she wouldn't be in her current situation: dangling on a rope inside a wall, while her life dripped away from a wound in her shoulder.  Maybe, just maybe, she wouldn't be hunted by the cold-blooded killer she heard climbing up beneath her. In the dark dank wall, her night-vision goggles illuminated only the pipes and supports close to her, she couldn't see him below her.  But she could hear him.  The warm, metallic smell of blood filed the narrow space where she dangled. She could feel the blood running down her arm and dripping from her fingertips, as she waited in the dark for the inevitable. Her death. As her head began to feel light from lost of blood, she thought back to that day.  If only she hadn't gone.

Nine days ago…

On the grungy streets of the red light district of New Seattle, one young girl strode toward the corner of 5th avenue and Broadway.  She wore a short pleated skirt with fish net stocking and very old high-heal shoes. Her make-up was garish and poorly applied.  A dirty dress shirt was tied in a knot over her small breasts.  Her blond hair sat on the top of her head in a cute braided fashion.  Her profession was blindly obvious to all comers. Child prostitute.  She couldn't be more than fifteen-years-old.

It was nearly dusk on an unusually hot day in New Seattle.  No.  It wasn't just hot; it was muggy hot.  The smell on the air was a mixture of dampness and street oil.  It seemed to cling to the pores. Most of the street-life was just starting to crawl out.  She wasn't the first streetwalker to appear.

A man stood waiting for her at the corner. Not a customer, his clothes were in the equally poor taste of one who could only be a pimp or a pusher.  He wore a white suit, with a black dress shirt open to the fourth button. An unlit cigarette was tucked behind his left ear. His hair was greased back and he smelled of tobacco and beer.

"Hi, Jake," greeted the child prostitute, cocking a hip to the side and smiling.

"Hey, Millie! How's my best little girlie?" purred Jake as he slithered over to meet her.

"Just as cute as they're willing to pay for, Jake." Millie pulled out her mirror and checked her loud make-up. "Who ya got for me?"

"Call me Santy-Claus, baby.  I got ya a sugar-daddy, and he wants ya for five nights too."  Jake grinned at her. His teeth were crooked. 

Millie smiled, her eyebrows rising in interest.  Perhaps to a normal streetwalker, what Jake said meant just what it meant. But "Millie" was no normal streetwalker. She was Middie Une, an Alliance-trained child spy and currently a professional free agent.  To her it meant: "A new client with lots of money wants you to do a five part mission." 

"How sweet is this sugar daddy?" she asked, shifting her weight to the other hip.

"Keep you in powdered-sugar for three months," replied Jake. Translation: "Three-times your normal rate."

"When does he want me there?" she asked.

"Soon as you can hustle your cute little baby ass over there." Jake picked an imaginary dust spec from his sleeve.

Middie knew from that the client was waiting for her answer, and the mission would start immediately.   "Speaking of powdered sugar, Jakey. Ya got some for me."  Middie slid her hand through the crook of his elbow and batted her eyes up at him. "Huh? Jakey?"

"Yeah, yeah."   He lifted her fingers on his arm. He slid the money out from under them and a small packet of white powder into them.  He looked around guilty for any police officers.  Ironically, the packet really was powdered sugar.  What she was paying for was the micro-disc of mission information inside the powder.

"Thanks, Jake, you're the best."   She squeezed his arm once before dropping it. Middie's high heels clicked as she walked away.

"Yeah, yeah," he said again as he watched her youthful form stride up Broadway.  "What a waste," he mumbled to himself and turned to stroll up the avenue.

Middie took the 522nd bus up to Queen Liz Hill, a simple suburban area of New Seattle.  The hill had row after row of similar looking white homes.  It was well lit with trees lining each street.  After the bus dropped her off, she walked up 15th and ducked into a wide alley.  Using a key, she opened the back door of a garage, and walked into what she and her brothers called "Une-Center".  

Une Center was a converted garage with a planning and communication area at the front and storage in the back. A door at the front of the garage led to the kitchen of the main house.  Three tall racks held equipment from guns to climbing gear to latex faces. The room was filled with that smell you get when you first open a box of new electronics, along with the sharper tinge of gunpowder. 

 Middie pushed past the left rack to the front of the garage where the computers and the brown conference table sat.  Six monitors and three terminals surrounded her younger brother, Peter.   He was the electronics and surveillance wiz of the family.  They called him 'Encyclo-Peter', because if it was useless trivia, he knew it.

"Is that you, Middie?" Peter asked over his shoulder.  A bony boy of fourteen, Peter looked very much like his sister, only his hair was messier. 

"It will be, just as soon as I get out of this costume," she answered.

"Why does that geezer insist on meeting you face to face?  You can do it all by computer!  Safely!"

"Jake's an old school fixer, Peter."  A 'fixer' was a free agent term referring to the middleman between the client and the agent.  A fixer was an important person to a client who wanted anonymity. Middie walked up behind her brother onto his special static-free mat and placed the packet of powder on the desk next to the second keyboard.  "See what he brought us would you?  He said it was a five-part mission.  If it's as big as he was hinting, we may have to have a little family reunion."

Peter wrinkled his nose as he held up the packet by two fingers.  "How archaic!"  He snorted in disgust.

She left her brother fishing through powdered sugar for the micro disc and grumbling about the older generation.  She found Peter's twin, Simon in the large green ivy kitchen of the main house.  Unlike his brother, Simon was tan and muscular.   Like all the Une siblings, his hair was blond.  He sang to himself as he poured stew into three bowls from a restaurant-sized pot on the stove.

"Help, I need somebody, Help, not just anybody…" Simon was always singing.  Singing and cooking.  He spotted her as he settled himself at the table.  "Well, if isn't Millie!" commented Simon as he started to eat the first bowl of stew.

"Not for much longer.  I hate this make-up." Middie sighed.  "But it's worth it for a five-part job at three-times the price."

"Really?" Simon finished the first bowl and started on the second.

"That's what Jake said. Encyclo-Peter's got the disc, but I'm gonna change first."  She pulled five or six pins from her hair and three braids came tumbling down.  "Be warned, Peter's in one of his moods.  He should have the info up by now though."

"Cool."  Simon gathered up his two remaining bowls of stew, refilled the third and carefully went out to Une Center using his back to open the door.  It swung closed behind him.

Middie shook her head moving the braids behind her.  She sighed.  It was a good thing Simon knew how to cook, because no one else could handle cooking the quantity he required and still have some free time.  Simon was proof positive that fourteen-year-old boys sported hollow legs.

Through the closed door, she heard Peter begin his tirade to Simon.  He often tried to keep Simon from bringing food near the precious computers.  Of course, Peter did it with standard junior-high-school boy tact, which naturally ended in a squabble between the twins.

"Just…the damn…okay?" She heard Simon say through the door. 

"Get back…step back…greasy…back!" That was Peter.

"MY FOOD IS NOT GREASY"

Middie grinned at the sounds of the fight.  Some things never change.  Simon and Peter made sibling fighting into an art form. However on a mission, there was no one they protected more fiercely than each other.  Sometimes she envied their close relationship…

"YOU LYING SACK OF SHIT!" yelled Peter.

…and sometimes she didn't.

Middie had one more brother, Steve.  He was ten months younger than the twins, and was the only one of the three not drafted into the Alliance Children Espionage Program.  When the program was cancelled two years ago, the three elder siblings returned home to find Steve firmly in the role of care-taker.  Their father was dying of a wasting disease called "Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis" or Lou Gehrig's disease.   

Their parents had both been spies for the Alliance.  Their father, who was left a single parent after the death of their mother, jumped at the chance to enlist his three oldest children in the program.  Steve was too young.  Over the seven years the three spent in the program, Steve and their father switched roles.  By the end, the disease had finally confined their father to a wheel chair and Steve, at eleven years of age, was desperately trying to make ends meet.

What choice did the three have other than to continue to use the only skills they had as free agents?  Steve didn't approve, out of jealousy or childishness, and a rift had formed between the siblings. They barely talked now. Their father supported them, why couldn't Steve?****

When Middie returned to Une Center with a wet head and a clean sweatshirt, the storm had blown over.  All the stew bowls lay empty on the table opposite the computers, and both boys were pouring over the data on the micro disc.

"Hey, Middie.  Look at this!  Some guy calling himself 'Mr. Smith' wants us to look into some secret weapons he believes the colonies are making to attack Earth with," said Peter.

"The colonies are making weapons?  I thought they were mostly laborers and technicians?" Middie asked.

"Yeah, well, this 'Mr. Smith' says they're working on an 'Operation Meteor', and it looks like the documents he sent us are straight from Alliance top-secret files." Peter pulled up a document and pointed out the seals and protective coding.

"This means…" started Middie.

"We got ourselves a government job!" finished Simon.  He was grinning ear to ear.

"If we pull this off…" Middie started.

"They'll want us to do more!" finished Peter.  "Stable client, with a government pocket-book and no sense of worth."

"We'll be rich!" exclaimed Simon.  The three of them paused for a moment to marvel at the idea.    

"So what's the bottom line?" asked Middie, coming back to reality.

"Well, they suspect up to five different colonies of building these weapons, but they are only sure about one at LaGrange Point One.  We've been asked to infiltrate the resistance organizations on these colonies and bring out the specs on these weapons," reported Peter.

"I say we hit the known one.  These organizations have to be connected, so we can get the information on the other four colonies there." Middie tapped the screen showing the first colony.

"That's what I was thinkin'," agreed Simon. 

"Well, guys, we've got a ton of planning to do.  Peter, you contact Mr. Smith and let him know we'll accept the mission.  Simon, let Steve and Dad know we'll be leaving.  I'll set us up a vacation trip to space!"

"Whoohoo!" Simon cheered and headed for the door.

Peter turned to his terminal saying, "Gotcha, sis!"

There were certain things the three Unes knew how to do, which came from being ex-Alliance operatives.  One was: how to get the Alliance to fly them anywhere, even to outer space, for free.  Combine the computer knowledge of a kid like Peter, with a bureaucrat's nightmare in paperwork.  Add to that a few of Middie's verbal circles around a poor under-paid office worker at an Alliance travel office and they would've given Middie their life savings just to avoid the paperwork.

So in a mere four days, the three Unes were siting in a shuttle in their pressed Alliance uniforms en-route to the colony at LaGrange Point One.

They were alone in the shuttle passenger room.  A cramped and dull gray room obviously meant for carrying soldiers or low paying tourists when tourism was allowed to the colonies. The recycled air smelled stale, as if they weren't quite adding enough oxygen.  In the forward room of the shuttle sat some dignitary or other with his daughter.  Whenever the door between rooms was opened, they could hear her prattle on about all the fun things she and her father were going to do at the colony. 

Peter wore an ensign's uniform and had his laptop open on his lap as he showed Middie and Simon his latest findings.  Simon, also in an ensign's uniform, sat to his left.  Middie, dressed as a lieutenant, sat on his right.

"And look here," said Peter, "I've narrowed the search for the resistance down to these three buildings on the colony.  In fact, I think all three buildings are very likely to be bases of some sort, but I think this one's our one. Henson Tower."  He focused the screen on the third building.

"Why?" asked Simon.

"This is the only one with a basement to the wall of the colony.  The other two have either a service tunnel or the subway running underneath," said Peter.

 "And you'd need access to the colony wall, wouldn't you? Wouldn't want to try and launch a weapon from the Alliance star port." Middie grinned at Peter.

"Yep, that's my conclusion.  But it's just a hunch.  The launch point and the construction location could possibly be two different locations."

Simon opened a can of peanuts. "That would limit the size of the weapon to somethin' which could fit into a service tunnel or a subway shaft."  He popped a handful into his mouth.

"Sure, and if it's to attack Earth, then no matter what, they must transport it by a capsule of some sort, right?" asked Peter.

"Too big?" asked Middie.

'Too big," agreed Peter.

"Pretty good hunch there, Bro." Simon ate another handful of peanuts.  Crunch, crunch, crunch.

"Close your mouth when you chew, Simon!" snapped Peter.

"My mouth was closed!" returned Simon.

"Then it must be echoing in that hollow head of yours," grumbled Peter.

"Hollow…" started Simon.

"Ensigns!" commanded Middie, then she lowered her voice, "If you blow our cover by squabbling I will personally have you drummed out of the Alliance Military Force!"

The twins snickered at her joke. "Oh, I'm scared!" "Oh no, lieutenant, anything but that!" "Sob, what would I do without the force?" they whispered in mocking tones.

"You'd have to fly to the colonies on your own dollar," said Middie. 

The twins gasped in mock horror.  Middie smiled, it was easy to joke about, but the military covers they all had were the only ones that forced them to pretend to be older than they were.  As child spies, that was the wrong direction.

"All passengers are required to lock their seat backs and tray tables upright and make sure their seat belts are securely fastened for star port docking.  The time at LaGrange Point One is 14:36, please make a note of it," intoned a voice over the loud speaker.

"I've set us up in a high-rise office building next to our target. The Froud Building." Peter added, "I figure we'll go straight there tonight and begin surveillance."

"Did you rent a truck?" Middie asked.

"The good old Alliance is loaning us one.  It should be waiting." Peter smiled.

"Aw, the Alliance knows we're good for it!" Simon snickered to himself as he polished off the rest of his peanuts.

As the shuttle began its approach, the gravity slowly began to be felt onboard.  As it moved into a matching spin with the colony, the gravity began to feel almost normal.  After two hours of near- weightlessness, the illusion of being too heavy was strong but quickly went away.  They felt the familiar bump and lurch as the shuttle docked with the colony.

"Military personnel will wait until the dignitaries have departed the space craft," intoned the voice on the speaker.

The three Unes watched out the small shuttle windows as the diplomat and his daughter departed and entered a black limousine.  The daughter continued her bright and cheery yammer about the trip, and how much she liked the shuttle ride and the docking, and how nice everyone was, and how she wanted to make lots of colony friends, and go shopping, and…,and…,and….

 "I'm so glad you don't talk like a girl, Middie." Simon watched the girl in disgust.

"When have I ever been on a pleasure trip?  Maybe then I'd be excited as she was."

Simon blinked in surprise.  "You envy that twit?"

Middie watched the limousine drive away, "Yeah, I do. Maybe. Sometimes."

Simon shook his head.  "I don't get it.  Aren't you excited about this mission?"

"Sure," answered Middie, "but that's work.  It's a different kind of excitement, it comes with worry, and planning, and stress.  Sure it's something I want to do, but it's no vacation."

"Maybe, someday, when this is all over, we can take a family trip somewhere," offered Peter.

"Yeah, with you twitching over computer depravation and Simon complaining about the slowness of the waiters. Not to mention Steve complaining about the hardships father's undergoing just to join us on a vacation."

Both her brothers were smiling.

"What?" she asked, looking back and forth between them.

"Well, I was thinking how nice it would be to not have to bring a computer on a trip," said Peter.

"Yeah, and I think it would be nice to only have waiters to complain about," said Simon.

"Beside, yes, he'd complain, but you know Steve would love it. So would Dad," Peter added.  

Middie paused, then grinned. "Yeah, you're right. Maybe, then."

"Someday," said Peter.

"Someday," said Simon.

"Military personnel may now exit the space craft," said the voice over the speaker. 

A simple walk through Henson Tower reveled that the average Joe couldn't go everywhere in that office building.  Only one elevator and two stairwells went down to the lower two levels.  All were keycard protected with surveillance cameras on them.  The cameras were all on the inside of the doors, and no conveniently placed guard shack existed outside the lower levels. All self-contained, all subtle, and very effective.

The name of the building, they found out was not always "Henson Tower". It had been changed two years ago. Before that it had been called the "Yuy Building".  No reason was given for the change. The building across the street was called the "Froud Building" for Froud Energy Inc. who occupied the lower four floors.  Peter had gotten them a room on the sixth floor.

The office rooms they rented looked like the type lawyers would use.  It had a reception area and two large offices with windows.  A break room separated the two offices, which was where they decided to set up.  The rest of the area was a large empty room, were one would assume the cubicle village of interns and research assistants would live.  The beauty of the place was the large vaulted ceiling.  It made the large empty room ideal for Simon and Middie to practice and exercise.   The only thing Middie could've done without was the dusty stale smell of the place.

Both Peter and Simon were certain Henson Tower was the place, but Middie had her doubts.  It seemed too easy to find, too obvious.  She took a day while the boys were getting set-up in Froud to look at the other two possible buildings.

Middie had an odd relationship with her brothers while on assignment.  She was in charge and there was no argument on that issue.  It had been that way since their Alliance training, when she simply outranked them.  After becoming free agents, the pecking order stayed in place.  All three were aware of the need to work as a cohesive unit, and that required a clear leader.

Peter was clearly not trained to run a show, being a communications and surveillance operative.  And although Simon could run point as well as Middie, he often stated his lack of interest in her level of stress. Simon was best suited to cooking up the explosives and chemicals they used.  His training was infiltration and demolitions.  Middie was the only one trained in strategy and control operations in addition to infiltration.

Not surprisingly, once the three passed the threshold of their home in New Seattle, all bets were off.  The standard sibling squabbles started, as if a way to step out of work.  They escaped into their childishness.  Often clinging to its factitious reality, because the truth was: none of the Unes were children.

Middie's foray at the other two buildings proved to be fruitless.  While both had their off-limits type areas, she could get into all of them with a simple set of lock-picks.  None held anything that resembled a weapon.

She walked back to the temporary base the boys were setting up in the Froud building early the next morning.  She enjoyed the artificially crisp air of the morning.  Everything in a colony was not quite right.  Sure, it felt similar.  The low hovering clouds, the gray half-light, the little buzzing and chirpings of the fauna, but it still had the curving walls leaping to the horizon on either side.  Motors turned the light panels to let in the sunlight gradually mimicking a rising sun.  Mist machines pumped out clouds in several obvious locations.  The earth-like feeling was lost in the overwhelming presence of the factitious.

It was an odd feeling for Middie, to walk down a flat street and always have the feeling that you were climbing a hill.  It took some getting used to.  Henson Tower was located in the center of the business district. To one side was a large park with a good-sized running path through it, complete with little anaerobic exercise stations where one could do push-ups, pull ups or stretch something out depending on the instructions near the wooden structure.  In addition, it had one of the largest children's play areas Middie had ever seen.  She supposed that the colonies must take park building very seriously, because they went all out on this one. 

As she passed by the park, she could see the two buildings sitting across the street from each other.  In Froud, she knew Simon was watching her already.  In Henson Tower existed their objective. No more doubts.  She smiled to herself, eager to get started on it.  

The sound of pounding feet drew her attention back to the park.  A boy ran at a very fast jog down the path, which ran parallel to the sidewalk.  He was wearing a green tank top and tight black shorts.  His brown hair was messy and wind blown.

Middie shook her head as she continued on to the Froud building.  Jogging that early and that fast took dedication.  She wouldn't do it, not unless a mission required her to be some sort of child marathon runner.  She wondered if the colonies had marathon races?  Probably not now, with the current military occupation.

 Middie was wrong.  Simon wasn't currently at the break room window watching the street below.  He stood over the stove.  That would've been her second guess.  On the stove bubbled something that smelled like Simon's famous lamb stew.  Over a Bunsen burner on the table bubbled another of Simon's mixtures, which meant it would eat through a wall, knock someone out, or blow something up.  Most likely, it would blow something up.

Peter was engrossed in his computers.  Floor plans flipped by on one monitor, while another showed a hacked report of recent email transmissions.  A third was showing the familiar monitor screen of the Alliance personnel travelling scheduler. 

Neither had heard her sneak in. She cleared her throat.

The twins both whirled to the sound, guns appearing in their hands.

Middie shook her head. "Getting rusty, boys.  You should've heard me long before this."

Peter snorted and replaced his gun in his spine holster.  "If you were any other person, we would've heard you."

"Yeah," Simon said. "Who didn't you beat out of the whole division at moving silently?"

"That's no excuse!" But Middie smiled, pleased that her skills were still sharp.

"So, what did you find?" asked Peter.

Middie told them about her exploration of the other two buildings.  They were not surprised.  The comings and goings of Henson Tower over the last day had them even more convinced of their target.

Simon took her to the window and pointed out the determined jogger she'd seen on her way in.

"He's unreal, Middie," Simon declared.  "He came out of the Tower yesterday morning about this time too.  He ran at that speed for sixteen laps around that park.  Then he went back through and did all the stations still sprinting between each one.  He never even breathed hard the whole time.  Then he did what I think was a martial arts kata."  Simon offered her the scope.  "Look at him when he comes around that turn.  Look at his eyes, his face.  Remind you of someone?"

Middie watched as the green-shirted boy came around the bend.  His face was steely, empty.  His eyes were cold.  She'd seen eyes like those only one place before.  "Robert" she breathed the name, as if saying it aloud would bring forth the demon.

"Yeah, Robert." Simon nodded.  Robert had been a member of the Alliance Children Espionage Program, but he was with the group undergoing an entirely different training. Assassin.   He was the type that fit the mold, he couldn't look at a person without them feeling like he was figuring out the best way to kill them.

Simon and Middie had worked with Robert on Middie's second and Simon's first mission.  They had watched him kill two revolutionaries, one with a gun, and the other with a knife.  The emotionless look never left his face.  It was all just business to him.  He was twelve years old.

"They're training that guy for somethin'," said Simon.

"You think they subscribe to the motto?" Middie asked.

" 'No one suspects a child'?  Yep, I'd say so."  Simon nodded.  'No one suspects a child' was the motto of the Alliance Children Espionage Program.  It had served them as a selling point as free agents as well.  The Unes could go places and do things other agents could not.  No adult agent could get out of a tight spot by saying "Gee Mister, my buddies dared me to trespass.  You aren't gonna tell my mom are you?"  No adult agent could fit through the kind of ducts and tight areas a child could, although that advantage was quickly disappearing as the Unes aged.

"It doesn't matter.  Just indicates we have the right building," said Middie.

"But if he is another Robert…" Simon looked worried.

Middie scoffed.  "You think some two-bit colony resistance could train a Robert?  You must remember that Robert was practically raised to be an assassin from day one."

"Yeah, I guess you're right." Simon continued to watch out the window.

"I am right," Middie assured him, "That guy is no match for us."  She turned to Peter. "So, Encyclo-Peter, have me a way in yet?"

Peter sighed. "I wish you wouldn't call me that, I'm not that bad.  And yes, I have found you a way in.  It seems that one of the janitors is a starving artist."

"Really," said Middie.

"Poor thing is trapped here on the colony because of the Alliance.  She's got a full-ride scholarship at a University on Earth."

Middie shook her head.  "Tragic!"

"But luckily, a certain Alliance General found out about it!" said Peter, warming up to his tale.

"This wouldn't be General Peter Neese, would it?"  Middie asked.  The General was one of Peter's online identities.

"How did you know?  Yes, well the General arranged for the Alliance to fly her to Earth and attend college.  Very good politics don't you think?" Peter grinned.

"What a nice guy," said Simon in a mocking tone.

"Isn't he?" agreed Peter.  "By the way, the name's Neese not Nice, Neese.  Anyway, she found out last night, so we think she'll be putting in her notice today. Unfortunately, she can't give the full two weeks."

"She can't?  What a shame!" Middie smiled.

"General Neese thoughtlessly booked her on this evening's shuttle." Peter shook his head in mock sadness.

"That bastard!" said Middie.

"Yes, how could he do this to poor Henson Tower?  Luckily, you just happen to be looking for a job. You poor starving kid, you."  Peter handed her an application form.  It was neatly filled out.

Middie started work that afternoon. The old ploy that began with "Please sir, my father's sick and I have three little brothers…" had never failed to get her a job or a break.  This one was no exception.  Besides, it was the truth.  Well, sort of.

The interior of the building was very austere in design.  The main floor was decorated by tall columns and winding stairways as if once this had been an important building rather than a simple office building.  In several decorative and optimal places empty pedestals stood.  Middie wondered what statues they once held and why they now stood empty?

Middie made good use of the time familiarizing herself with the layout, specifically the main floor.  The one below, she was instructed never to go to, they had their own cleaning staff.  In one of her various tiresome encounters with a mop and pale, she just happened to stumble upon a telecom closet.  Those places need cleaning too, you know.  

The resistance could isolate their cameras and firewall their computers, but they'd still need to communicate.  As she left the closet, it was changed in two ways: there was a lot less dust, and three innocuous wire-taps had been placed.

The hope was Peter could hack in and take the data that way.  It was a slim chance, but she never put it passed him.  He was that good.  She would never admit it, but a small part of her always hoped he would fail whenever he tried hacking.  Middie loved the hunt, and hacking just wasn't enough for her to feel truly satisfied.

Peter had gotten the blue-prints of the building almost the same hour they'd arrived.  If she did have to infiltrate, it would be through the south bathroom plumbing or 'wet' wall.  It was an outside wall so that the piping ran up the wall instead of through the cement floor.

It meant two things.  One, she had to get pictures of the bathroom.  And two, she'd have to practice her climbing with Simon that evening.  And it was in the middle of that practicing when news of the fate of the mission came.

"God damn it!" cried Peter, "Trying to get through this system is a Sisyphean task if ever I saw one."

Middie and Simon were out in the large office space.  She was dangling upside down from the ceiling trying to slide between two narrow wires.  Simon was timing her.

"Sissy-what-en?" he called into Peter.

"Sisyphean.  Don't you know what that means? Come on, everybody knows what that means." Peter appeared at the door with his arms crossed.

"You know what it means, Middie?" Simon asked his upside down sister.

"Nope," she answered. 

"See," Simon said, "everybody doesn't know. So what does it mean?"

Peter rolled his eyes.  "Sisyphus was this famous Corinthian King who annoyed the gods by tricking them.  When he died and went to Hades, they condemned him to roll a huge rock up a long, steep hill and watch it roll back down.  Over and over again.   So something Sisyphean is unending, thankless and unsuccessful."

Middie looked at Simon. Simon looked at Middie. They both looked at Peter.

"You know what amazes me, Simon?" Middie asked.

"What?"

"Is he took that much air just to tell us he couldn't hack it."  Middie smiled.  

Simon snickered. "That's my bro, Encyclo-Peter!"

"Oh you two are ridiculous!  I'm going to eat." Peter sighed.

"Help me down Simon, I need to use the bathroom," said Middie.

Simon removed the wires behind her so she could quickly reach the ground and disconnect.  She was almost out of the room when Simon threw his arm around Peter.

"See, now that's a Sissy-peein' effort!"  Simon patted his brother's shoulder.

"Sisyphean, you moron." But he smiled anyway.

The next morning, Peter had some news.  Peter, being the night-owl always did his best hacking late at night.

"I intercepted and decoded a secure email last night."  Peter announced to a freshly showered Middie.

"Have you been to bed yet?" she asked.

"It's only three a.m." Peter replied.  Middie's cleaning shift started at 4 o' clock, one more reason why it was good to be a spy and not a janitor.

Middie yawned. "Gaaw, is it that early?  No normal human gets up at this hour." 

Simon wandered passed Middie in his bathrobe.  He went straight for the food.

Middie grinned at Peter.  He smiled back.  They both looked at Simon.

"What?" he asked, after noticing their looks.  "Damn colony artificial daylight is messing with my mind.  Gives me the creeps."

Middie nodded.  "I know what you mean, it's just not Earth.  So…Peter what were you saying?"  Middie pulled out a chair and took the bowl of cereal Simon handed her.

"I intercepted and decoded a secure email last night." Peter joined Middie at the table and poured himself a bowl as well.

"Yeah, I think I got that part.  And?" Middie poured in milk and mixed her cereal.

"And it had landing coordinates, and a schedule."

"Did it say it was for Operation M?" Middie asked.

"No, but what else could it be?"

"A lot of things.  A shipping itinerary." Middie offered.

"Accept it left one colony and went to four, and it lists five coordinates—all on earth—all near Alliance military bases."

"So now we know the locations of the other four weapon builders?"  Middie asked, with her eyebrows raised.

"No, three were too heavily encrypted and had a dizzying amount of relay machines.  But I did get one.  That one barely had any defenses at all.  You'll never guess where it is."

"Where?" Middie asked.

"It's a colony in the L4 cluster."

"Which colony?" Middie asked.

"The colony."

"The Winner colony?" Middie asked.

"Yes! Not only that but from the Winner Mansion itself!"

"Unreal, I thought they were pacifists?" Simon asked with his mouthful.

"Who'd ever suspect them?  Openly fighting for peace while secretly building a weapon, and in their own mansion?  Who'd ever believe they'd be stupid enough to do that?  It's an ingenious cover."  Peter smiled, spooned a bite of dry cereal, made a face, and reached for the milk.

"I hear they give tours of the Winner Mansion."  Middie looked at Simon.  "You up for a little sight seeing?"

"Sure, but what about this one?" Simon asked.

"Oh, I can handle this one.  Peter, can you run com for L4 from here?"

"Sure, the only place I'd have trouble running it from is Earth.  Once you're up here though, there's a ton of relay satellites."

"Couldn't you use the satellites from Earth?" Middie asked.

"Sure, but the Alliance is more difficult to side step on Earth."

"Okay, so Simon, you go to the Winner colony, sight-see, take the tour, get us a place.  We'll finish up here by tomorrow and join you."

"Roger!" Simon grinned and drank the milk out of the bottom the bowl.  "So then, if I'm takin' off.  Then I gotta show you your equipment now."  He set the bowl down and stood up.

"What did you cook up, you crazy chef?" Middie watched while Simon brought two cases over to the table.

"Okay," Simon said opening the first case.  He took out an aerosol can of tile cleaner.  He pointed to the nozzle.  "Turn it this way and it cleans the dirt off the tiles, turn it this way and it cleans the tiles off the wall."

Simon pulled out a cleaning bottle, he unscrewed the bottom to reveal the wall cutting tool.  "As requested."

Middie nodded.

He pulled out her night-vision goggles.  "I added the digital cam to the goggles.  Trigger is here."  He pointed to the side of the frame.  

"Good."

"And my newest baby." Simon pulled out a sack of political badges.

"Looks like six babies?" Middie said.

"Yeah," he pulled one out.  "Here, switch on the back activates it."  He flipped it over.  "Then it's coded to your voice.  Say the word 'flash' and it blows a phosphorus flash out the front."

"That's a dirty trick." Middie took the badge from him.

"Yeah, I know.  Ain't it great." Simon grinned.

Middie read the badge, "'I remember Heero Yuy'.  What does that mean?"

Simon shrugged. "I don't know.  I bought from a street vendor, some political message. They're all different."

Simon found himself on the Winner Colony by that afternoon, actually it was more like the crack of dawn for him, L1 and L4 were nearly ten hours different in time settings.  He wondered why the colonies couldn't all be in the same time zone.  It would make more sense.  Unfortunately, they were linked to their parent country on Earth.  

This colony had a different feel than the L1 colony.  It had street vendors and open-air stalls of food.  And the smells!  They were unlike any he'd smelled before.  Simon promised himself he'd take an eating tour of this place in addition to the sight-seeing one.

The Winner mansion was not hard to find.  It was on any tourist map one could buy.  Also, as one got closer to it, signs pointed the way.

The Winner mansion itself was a beautiful structure.  Either a line of marble stones or a balcony divided granite walls.  Many inset square windows sparkled in the piped-in light of the colony.   Lining the front were several varieties of evergreen trees.  A large circular driveway led up to the front with a fountain in the center.  The most distinctive feature of the building was the complete and total lack of walls or fences to keep people out.  Only a waist-high decorative rock wall surrounded the property.

It was the most welcoming mansion Simon had ever since.  Ironic then, that the place no longer held tours. 

Simon sighed, as he looked at the place.  A tour would've made this so much easier.  Now they had to do it the hard way.

"That's a heavy sigh," said a voice to his right.  

Simon looked to see a short toe-headed boy walking toward him.

The boy smiled.  "What has you so sad solider?" he asked.

"Oh, well, I'd heard they gave tours here.  But the sign says they've been cancelled indefinitely."  Simon tugged at the front of his ensign uniform and adjusted the backpack on his shoulder.

"Yes, well they had to be cancelled, didn't they?" The boy smiled.  "Tourism isn't allowed right now, so we don't get many takers."

Simon looked at the house again.  "Yeah, I should've thought of that."  He sighed.  "Well, such is life.  Better get going."  Simon turned to walk away.

"Hey, solider, wait," The boy called.

Simon stopped and turned around.

"I can get you a tour if you like.  It won't be the official one, but you could at least see the place."  The boy smiled again.  "I'd hate to turn away a traveler.  Even an Alliance one."

"Really?" Simon asked.  "You work there?"

"No, I live there.  My name is Quatre.  Quatre Raberba Winner."

Simon's eyes bulged.  "The Winner Heir?"

Quatre put his hand behind his head in modesty.  "So they tell me.  What's your name?"

"Uh…Uh…Simon.  I mean Ensign Simon Thompson."  Best to use his military cover since he was still in the uniform.

"Come on in, Simon.  Where are you from on Earth?"  Quatre lead the way through the front gate.

"Uh…New Seattle." 

"Really?  What's it like?  You must tell me all about it."

Simon and Quatre had much to talk about during the tour of the mansion.  Quatre was very interested in anything about Earth.  He was also very interested in Simon and Simon was forced to unobtrusively place his ear mike receiver/transmitter in his ear canal.  He had to open the link to Peter to make sure the facts he told fit the cover 'Simon Thompson'.  Simon had several covers he'd developed as an agent, only the military one used his real first name.  The reason was clear, it was the one he used most often to travel and 'Simon' was a common enough name.  Middie never used her real name; it was simply too unique.  A name people remembered.

Peter and Midde, back on the L1 colony, were trilled with Simon's luck and encouraged him to milk it.  Simon palmed his micro-camera and took several pictures of the interior.  Judging from the layout and the rooms Quatre showed him, Simon was very sure he'd located the door that lead to the basement where the weapon had to be.

Near the end of the tour, Quatre found out about Simon's interest in old rock bands.  They were having a lively discussion about the Beatles, when they just happened to pass the kitchen.

"What is that wonderful smell?" Simon asked.

"Oh that's Yusef, our cook.  He must be starting dinner."  Quatre looked into the kitchen.  

Simon followed and watched the chef industriously start his craft. "I love to cook," Simon announced.  "Do you think he'd show me Arabic cooking?"

"Hey Yusef.  Simon wants to learn how to cook Arabic food.  Do you mind?" Quatre called.

Yusef looked to be about forty.  He was a heavyset fellow, with the beginnings of gray hair at his temples.   He looked suspiciously at Simon.  "Forgive me Master Quatre, but does this boy know the first thing about cooking?"

"Do I?" said Simon.  "Why I could make you an upside down cake that would roll your eyes back in your head!"

On L1, Peter nodded listening in on his brother.  "I love that cake."

Yusef broke into a smile.  "Very well, young Simon.  I'll teach you to cook this meal in exchange for your upside down cake."

Simon grinned ear to ear.  "Deal!" 

Quatre smiled at the two.  "I'll leave you guys to it then."  Quatre was pleased with himself.  This Ensign would someday be a higher-ranking officer.  Anything that could be done to foster good relations between the Winners and the Alliance was all right by him.  Plus he was sure his father would approve.

Back on L1, Peter shook his head.  "I can't believe you are learning to cook in our objective's house!" he said over the connection to his brother.  Simon couldn't respond, but he still grinned.  Always the opportunist.

Maizah Winner came home close to dinnertime.  She took after her father in that she had brown hair with a natural wave to it.  Her skin was also a darker tan.  She smelled something unusual coming from the kitchen.  She poked her head into the kitchen and found two chefs instead of one.  

Both men where deeply engrossed in cooking shop-talk.  They laughed like old buddies, only the one she didn't recognize could only have been sixteen or seventeen.  And, unless she was mistaken, that looked like an Alliance dress shirt and pants under that apron.

She backed out unnoticed and went in search of Quatre.  She found him in the music room playing his violin. 

"Quatre?"

Quatre stopped and turned to his sister.  Though he had 29 sisters, most were grown and out serving on resource satellites some where.  He didn't even know them.  Maizah was one of the five he knew, because she was only a year his senior.

"Quatre, who's the officer in the kitchen?" she asked.

"Oh that," Quatre said. "He was wandering out front all upset because we don't have tours anymore."

"Not again, Quatre."

"But this one's really great.  He's friendly, likes old rock music, and was desperate for Yusef to teach him to cook Arabic."  Quatre put down his violin and closed his music.

"Well, that doesn't sound so bad, but you can't build peace by befriending every Alliance officer you see."

"I know that, and I wasn't trying to.  He just looked so sad he could tour the place that I thought…"

"All the Alliance understands is war."

"It's OZ that does that."

"Right, I forget who I'm talking to, but you'll need to be ruthless if you follow the Instructor.  No more befriending."  Maizah turned and walked toward the door.  "I guess I'll get ready for dinner.  But don't expect me to like him."

"I don't," said Quatre.

"At least what ever he's cooking smells good."  She disappeared through the door.

Well, thought Quatre, that's a start.  It was his personal opinion that Maizah and Simon would in fact get along.  And if they did, Quatre was sure that Simon would be head and shoulders better for her than those other cretins she insisted on dating.  Now that was something father would definitely approve of.

Quatre employed every match-making skill he knew.  Insisting that Simon stay and join them for dinner--after all he should try the food he helped make.  No, samples in the kitchen were not good enough!  Fortunately, it would only be the three of them that evening because father was working late and Karida, his other at-home sister had a date.

"Well, if you're sure you won't mind.  I'm sure monopolizing you guys' hospitality."

"Don't think about it Simon!" Quatre insisted. "You've been the only bright moment in a dull week.  Besides, you haven't met my sister Maizah."

As if on cue, Maizah walked in to the dinning room.  She was wearing a simple dress of off-white with a flower print.  It complemented her tan skin and wavy brown hair.  And her eyes!  Simon had never seen eyes like her.  Rich, rich brown and deep.  So deep you could get lost in them.  Unfortunately, the words those eyes conveyed were anything but open and friendly.

Quatre watched Simon stare with satisfaction.  No question Simon liked what he saw.  Maizah on the other hand…

"Who's your new friend Quatre?"  Maizah asked.

"Ensign Simon Thompson, may I present my sister, Maizah Yasmine Winner."

"Uh…Uh…I'm honored."  Simon smiled at her.  A large dopey smile he hoped would help erase that cold suspicion he saw on her face.  He couldn't tell if it worked.

Quatre made sure that Simon and Maizah sat next to each other, and he did his best to encourage positive conversations and disrupt any conversation that began with "So you're an Alliance officer…"

The meal started with a soup called 'milookha' followed by 'laham Meshwi' a type of meat skewer over 'roz wa sha'riyah' a type of rice.

The highlight of the meal for Maizah and Quatre, was Simon's cake.  As promised, the cake did in fact roll ones eyes back in ecstasy.  It wasn't until the dessert that Quatre truly felt the ice was broken between Simon and Maizah.

He watched them now as Simon discussed the making of the cake.  Maizah leaned forward now instead of away.  She smiled and nodded encouraging Simon to speak.  Quatre decided this was the right time to bring up their common interest in music again.

"Oh that's right!" Maizah said.  "Quatre did tell me you like old rock and roll."

"Like?" said Simon, "That would have to be 'love' to be correct."

"Me too!  And you must like the Beatles, right?"

"Love them! They have great songs, so happy." Simon smiled at Maizah.

Maizah smiled back.  "My favorite is 'Let it be'."

"Oh that's a great one." He started to sing it, "'When I find myself in times of trouble…'" 

She joined him.  "'Mother Mary comes to me, speaking words of wisdom let it be.'"

"Oh Simon, you have a beautiful voice!" Maizah exclaimed.

"Well, I…" Simon started.

"Quatre, you have that one on sheet music don't you?"

"Yes, I think I do," replied Quatre, this was snowballing now.  It needed no help from him.

"Please Simon, come up and sing with us?" Maizah turned to him.

"Well, I…" Simon started.

He heard Peter in his ear. "You can't Brother, remember officers on the Winner Colony have an eight p.m. curfew on week days."

"As much as I'd love to stay and sing, I can't.  We have an eight p.m. curfew and I…"

"Oh that's right."  Maizah blinked.  "I'd forgotten you were an Alliance officer."

Quatre sat up straight.  Had the wake-up call changed things?

"Yes, well, I wish I could stay but…" Simon started.

"You must come again tomorrow!" Maizah leaned toward him and put her hand on his arm.  Simon looked startled at the contact.

Better add to it, thought Quatre.  "Can you Simon?"

"Well, actually, I can.  I am on shore-leave for these two days."

The arrangements were swiftly put in place for the dinner the next evening.  Quatre would've liked to leave himself out of the equation but since Maizah was so set on singing, he was stuck. It wasn't quite a date but it was good enough to start with.

Quatre and Maizah watched Simon leave from the front window.

"Well?"  Quatre asked.

"Alright, so you were right." Maizah grinned.

"And you like him."

"Yes I do.  I really do." Maizah watched the last moment as Simon disappeared down the street.  

"Even though he's in the Alliance?" 

"Do you have to rub that in?"

"It's in my job description.  Brothers must tease sisters!"

"That's a big job for you."

"No kidding."

Simon was also able to finally speak with his brother and sister.  It started quite similar:

"Well?" he asked.

"Nice job, Brother. We stand a good chance of having two fifths of this job completed tomorrow."  Peter's voice was distant but clear.

"That's what I was thinkin'.  What does Sister say?"

Middie came on the line.  "I say go for it.  You've got the equipment and the opportunity.  Speaking of which, are you pulling the classic spy maneuver or what?"

"Huh?"

"You know, do the job and woo the ladies at the same time?"

"Who me?"  Simon smiled to himself.  All joking aside, Simon wouldn't mind wooing Maizah.  He liked her.

Squeak, squeak, squeak. Middie pushed the cleaning cart down the hall of the Henson Tower main floor.  The decorative walls were gray in the artificial dawn of morning.  She had arrived at her scheduled time, and watched Green-shirt leave for his run as she filled her cart.

She pushed her cart into the Ladies bathroom, making sure to place the cleaning sign in the doorway.  The bathroom was ornate in an older design, past its prime but still beautiful.  With a little pushing, the cart fit into the handicapped stall.  She removed Simons special cleaner from the cart and switched the positions on the nozzle.

After a few quick passes, the tiles were nicely detaching themselves.  She slipped off the outer janitor's costume revealing her black 'cold' suit and climbing harness.  A 'cold' suit was a thermographic suit designed to mask a person's body heat.  She checked the suit and harness over carefully and attached her grappling gun to the belt.  She slipped the ear mike receiver/transmitter into her ear and pulled the hood of the suit up over her tightly braided hair.  Finally she added her night-vision goggles.  She reached back to check the Browning 9mm in her spine holster.

"Little brother," she whispered.

"Receiving, big sister," Peter replied.

The tiles had slipped their mortar and were easily picked off and set aside.  Now that the sheet rock was exposed, the cutting tool which looked like a slightly oversized carving tool was all she needed to cut a hole. She poked her head in to the narrow space of the bathroom's plumbing or 'wet' wall. 

"Oh, geez, I'm not going to be able to do this forever, you know."

Peter snickered in her ear. "Cut back on the sweets."

"One word: breasts," Middie whispered.

"Two words: duct tape," Peter replied.

Middie groaned at the idea. 

Middie lay on her back and aimed the grappling gun at the supports of the floor above.  The floors were poured concrete, which is why only this wet wall would do.  Only next to the exterior wall was a gap left between floors.

Pop, ka-chunk, the grapple engaged in the upper floor.  She attached the harness to the line and tested it with her weight.  It held.  She pulled herself up into the wall. Once inside the wall she could see straight down to the basement floor.  It was a long drop.

Slowly she lowered herself down the wall.  She really had to suck her stomach in to get by the concrete floors and there were two of them to pass.  But with a little scraping and scuffing she found herself dangling over the cable trays and insulated vent ducts of the lower warehouse.  

It was pitch black in the warehouse.  If she didn't have her night-vision goggles, she would be blind.  Right below her was the sloped roof of the warehouse office. Other than straight down, her view was blocked by the ducts, pipes and the limits of the goggles.  

Middie removed the grapple gun from her belt and pointed it at the nearest wall, taking care that the back was pointing at the wall behind her.  With another quiet discharge the two ends shot out to sink into either wall.  The capsule left in the middle when the gun was disengaged, tighten to make the wire taunt. Middie connected the back of her harness to the wire and left the other line up the plumbing wall were it was. She'd need it for her escape.

With a small push, she was sailing across the ceiling of the warehouse.  When she reached the middle that was when she saw it.  In the center of the floor of the warehouse was a large trapdoor, over it two cranes held what had to be an atmospheric entry capsule.

"Found it," she whispered.

"What is it?" Peter asked.

"Can't tell, it's in a capsule.  Here's an image."  She pushed the button on her goggles.  Click.  "I'm going down."  She reached back and engaged the drop line to the harness.  Slowly, the mechanism lowered her down through the ducts and cable trays.  She hovered level with them and got her first complete look of the warehouse.

Behind her, where she came in was the office.  The third wall had been knock out of it and she could see the room was packed with computer hardware.  Large cables ran out of it like vines, connecting the capsule, the cranes and two remote operation stations.  On either side of the office were racks of equipment, mostly weapons.  Large ones, the types only used by tanks, space ships and mobile suits. 

On the wall to her left, was an iron stair well, which looked like the fire escape type.  Next to it was an equipment lift.  A large metal cage with a pulley system.  In the front-left corner of the wall was another clue.

The area was taped off with tell-tale yellow and maroon warning tape.  A Geiger counter clicked rhythmically to the side.  Protective clothing was stacked neatly beside the step-off pad.  And inside the area three large glass water tanks held the softly blue glowing fuel cells of mobile suit engines.  

Middie sent Peter another image of that.

"Hmm, mobile suits then."

"Not very many judging by the size of that capsule," Middie whispered.

"The weapon can't be just one mobile suit, that doesn't make sense.  What could one mobile suit do against the Alliance's legions?" Peter asked.

"Maybe we shouldn't jump to conclusions, besides the client wants the specs.  We don't care if it's a good or bad weapon.  We still get paid."

"True."

On the wall to her right, were stacks and stacks of ammunition crates.  Nothing interesting there.  Middie decided she'd place Peter's remote link in the computer and then go check out the capsule.

It was nearly totally black in the warehouse.  Only the blue glow of the fuel cells was visible to the naked eye.  But that was all her goggles needed to illuminate the place for her.

Slowly she lower herself the rest of the way to the warehouse floor.  With practiced ease, she glided across the floor to the office.  Several large computer network boards sat in tall narrow cabinets.  Three terminals dominated the desk.  She removed Peter's remote link from a lower pocket on her left thigh.  She looked at the room.  Damn.  This was much easier when there was only one computer in the room.  She shot an image to Peter. Click.

"Help me out little brother," she whispered.

"Go to the back of that tall cabinet," he instructed in her ear. 

Middie crept around the cabinet.  It was two feet from the wall at least.  Wires leaped out of the back like a fountain.

Click. She sent Peter an image of the back.

"Yeah, it's pretty standard.  Third tray down, about the second or third wire from the left should be labeled DEX."

"Yeah, I found it."

"Put it there."

Middie disconnected the wire and plugged it into the remote link, then she plugged the link into the DEX hole.  As long as no one checked the back, it could stay there forever.  Even if someone checked, they'd have to know what they were looking for.  This trick was great for industrial espionage.  A non-techno savvy person could be monitored for months before someone found out.

"I'm getting into it now," Peter reported.

"Great," Middie replied, "I'm going to check out the capsule.  I'm going to put bug B outside before I go in."

"Roger, I'll loop it back in so you have an extra ear."

Middie crept over to the capsule.  Underneath, a sloped ramp was open.  She removed the bugging device from her right breast pocket and reached up to attach it to the underside of the capsule.  Carefully, she crept up the ramp and into the ship.  Inside was a small empty room, with no doors.  It didn't make sense.  Where was the pilot to sit?  Finally, she looked up.  In the ceiling was set a large door.  She stepped down the ramp to get a good look at it.  It was a mobile suit hatch!  But that must mean the suit was built into the capsule!  Ingenious!

She stepped back into the small room and felt around the door for the catch.  She found it!  With a hiss and a clank which sounded way too loud to Middie.  The door opened.  She grit her teeth at the noise, but no one came running.  The cockpit was unlike any she'd seen before.  It had many controls she didn't recognize.  She started clicking pictures.  She turned and sat in the seat.

"Those are some good shots," said Peter.

"Finding anything in the computer?" she asked.

"Yes, tons of stuff.  Five or six different mobile suit plans.  I'm copying them now."

"Five or six?"

"Yes, well, this guy is quite an inventor, one's called 'Wing', one 'Zero', one's 'Tallgeese' labeled prototype…" 

"I get the picture.  So which one did he build?" she asked.

"I don't know.  I'll have to compare cockpits.  Give me a sec."

"Okay, because I can't leave until we know we have the right specs."

"I know," Peter said.

On the console in front of Middie sat a vid-disc propped on the corner of the control monitor.   She picked it up.  It was labeled 'Training Mission' and dated a few months ago.  Maybe this showed this mobile suit in action?

She put it in the disc drive.  A small vid screen popped up in front of her, and she moved her goggles back on her head so she could watch.

The first image was a corridor, then it panned quickly to the other direction of the corridor.  It was the standard green walls of an Alliance building.  Not surprising.  Then the camera panned down to the floor, and she realized it was a head-mounted camera.  Not a mobile suit mission then.  She could see the body of the person as he checked the clip of his gun.  She knew who it was.  Green shirt, black shorts, and yellow shoes—it was that boy they were training, the one they called Green-shirt.  Also not surprising.  She couldn't tell what type of gun it was, but it definitely had a silencer.  

He walked to the end of the corridor and looked around the corner.  Empty.  He started down but was surprised by an office clerk corporal coming out of a door.  He shot the man between the eyes.  A blossom of red appeared on the wall behind the slowly falling dead man.  Eew, maybe she should turn it off, but curiosity kept her watching.

He turned one other corner before finding the place he wanted to set up a bomb.  He was wearing a backpack.  She saw into it as he set up the bomb. It was enough to destroy a city block.

When he left that building, she saw he was in an Alliance Base.  It was on a colony, probably this one.  He sneaked pass several sets of guards to slip into the next building.  She was glad he didn't always kill.  He set the next bomb, and moved on to the third building.  A female officer in a jogging outfit caught him setting up the bomb in that building.  He was a good shot; she didn't have time to make a sound.  Her death wasn't pretty either.  Middie had had enough, she reached forward to turn it off, but something stopped her.  His gun jammed.

He fiddled with it for a few minutes.  Judging by the bag, he still had one more bomb to set-up.  Surely he didn't go there with only one firearm?  He couldn't get it un-jammed.  He gave up and stuffed it into the bag.  He pulled a soldier's knife out of the bag.  Eight to ten inches with a serrated back.

What does he expect to do with that?

He moved out of the third building and on to the fourth.  He didn't encounter anyone on the way there.  Lucky bastard.  He paused right before turning the final corridor, all four buildings were identical, and she had gotten used to the floor plan.  Entrance, left turn, right turn, six doors down, plant bomb in a janitor's closet.  He waited. Checked his watch.  Looked at the knife, shifted it around and crept around the corner.  Now she saw what was up.  Another soldier waited in the hallway about twenty paces down.  His back was turned and he checked his watch.  That was the last thing he did.  Green-shirt jumped him from behind and slit his throat.  Oh, she really shouldn't have watched that.  She felt the blood draining from her own face as she watched the solider die. 

After he set the last bomb, he stepped into the bathroom and casually washed the blood from his hands.  He looked up into the mirror and his face was the most horrifying thing of all.  Cold, passionless, empty.  Life meant nothing to him.

Voices from her past floated back to her.

"What do you think about when you kill, Robert?"

"Numbers."

"Numbers?"

"That was kill number fifty-two."

She remembered the look on Robert's face.  Green-shirt's face looked the same.  She switched the video off.  

"You're the real weapon, aren't you?" she whispered.  A cold chill climbed her back.  He was the weapon, and she was in his warehouse, sitting in his mobile suit.

"How's it coming little brother?" she whispered feeling uneasy.

"Just a few more minutes."

"Do me a favor would you? Go to the window and check on Green-shirt."  She slipped her goggles back on and put the disc back were she found it.

"Why? He won't get done with his morning exercise for another two hours," Peter asked.

"Just do it," she ordered, while climbing out of the cockpit.  Middie flipped the latch and the door clanked closed.  She grit her teeth harder at the sound, thinking about Green-shirt and a knife…

"Okay, I'm at the window," Peter reported, "I see park, park, park, trail, trail, curve trail, playset, open field.  Wait a minute…"

Middie felt herself begin to sweat.

"Let me make another scan, I must have missed him," said Peter, "park, park, and more park, trail, trail, trail, playset, field.  Sis, I don't see him.  Anywhere."  There was a hint of worry in his voice.  "Sis, I see that cyborg scientist, he's going in the building. He's way early."

They'd tracked everyone coming and going from that building for the last three days.  They knew everyone's routine.

"I'm getting out of here," she whispered.  She quickly moved out of the capsule and down the ramp.  Just as she cleared the hull a light came on behind the door at the top of the stairs.  Shadows moved in the light outside of the door.  She'd never make it to her rope in time!  She dove for a stack of crates as the door opened and the lights came on.  Luckily, the room was not very well lit and there were deep shadows still near the crates.

She huddled in the dark shadows created by several stacks of crates of ammunition, as Green-shirt and the cyborg know as Doctor J came down the stairs.

Meanwhile back on L4, due to the time zone difference, it was time for Simon's date.  This time he wore plain clothes, a nice polo shirt and slacks.  He looked very adult, which was important.  His cover as an Alliance Officer placed his age at eighteen.  Acting, and his muscular build helped the illusion.  Peter could never pull it off--he looked like a scrawny fourteen-year-old. But Simon could pull off a short and stocky eighteen-year-old easily, although neither he nor his brother were that short, and they showed promise of becoming as tall as their father.

Age was mostly appearance and attitude really.  He wondered if Maizah would like him so much if she knew he was the same age as her brother?  Probably not, age was always a big handicap in your teens.

A confused butler answered the door.  "May I help you sir?" the butler asked.

"I'm Simon Thompson, I'm here to see…"

"Ah yes, Master Thompson.  Miss Winner is awaiting you in the study.  Master Quatre will be along shortly."  The butler led the way to the study.

Maizah stood silhouetted by the large square window.  She wore a navy blue dress, which hugged her delicate figure.  Simon felt his jaw drop and let it.  She'd like his honest reaction better than one he could think up and act out.  Sometimes spying was easy work.

Simon and Maizah spent a half-hour enjoying each other's company and conversation.  Simon tried not to obviously watch the time, but he'd hoped Quatre would join them before he'd put his plan into action.  Not only that, but he wanted it done before dinner, so he could go back and fix things if need be.  As the dinner hour approached though, he realized that things were not going to be perfect.  Quatre did not show up.  Simon wondered if he kept away to foster the 'relationship' between Maizah and himself.  With the way Quatre had guided the conversation last night, Simon wouldn't put it passed him.

Simon gave up on waiting for Quatre, and put the plan into motion.  Middie and Simon spent a great deal of time discussing the plan this morning for him, yesterday evening for her.  She pushed back her own infiltration a day to help plan his.  His was a definite time line; hers was flexible.  As it was, she should be executing hers by now.  He wondered how it was going.  Ah, well on to his task. 

"Maizah, can I use your bathroom." Simon let a pained look cross his face.  He put his hand on his belly.

"Of course, is something wrong?" She looked concerned.

"I ate lunch at a street vendor's booth.  I don't think it's agreeing with me."  He stood up.

"Oh that's happened to me before.  Do you know the way?"

"Yes, Quatre gave me a tour."  He walked towards the door.  "Oh, if I'm not out in ten minutes, send for re-enforcements!" he quipped.

She giggled.

The hall was deserted.  By Simon's observations, they only employed five house servants.  Three were cleaning staff and they were gone by now.  Yusef was one and the butler was the other.  The grounds men were numerous, but they wouldn't come inside.  Same with the chauffeurs.

Simon passed the bathroom door, opening and closing it noisily.   He moved quickly to the target door, three doors down the hall.  He reached under his polo shirt and removed his lock picks from his skin-tight tool vest.  He kneeled down to the side of the door, then paused.

What the hell.

He tried the doorknob.  It was unlocked.

"I love these people!" he whispered to himself. 

Inside was a metal stairway leading down.  It was slightly darkened.  He slipped inside.  Through the grate of the metal floor he could see he was in an enclosed stairwell.  No obvious electronics protected the area.

He carefully descended the metal stairs.  Metal stairs were the worst things to sneak down.  They groaned and creaked.  He was sure he made too much noise, but then you always thought that when you were trying to be quiet.

The door at the bottom had a glass window.  Simon removed another tool from his vest.  A little mirror on a telescoping stick.  He used it to peer into the room beyond.  It was a computer room with two terminals.  It over looked a large warehouse and on the distant wall, Simon could see the head and shoulders of a mobile suit.

The place looked deserted, but he couldn't see the floor of the warehouse.  Simon looked at the doorknob.  Surely this one would be locked?  He tried it.  Click.  It was open.

These Winners were sure confident in their cover.  Oh no, Mister Alliance officer, we aren't building a weapon of mass destruction!  We're pacifists.  Obviously 'Pacifist' meant you have a basement somewhere full of mobile suits.

Simon entered the room the same way as before, he crawled over to the terminals and the observation window.  First thing's first.  He lifted his pant leg and removed Peter's remote link from an ankle pouch.  He installed it into the back of the nearest central processing unit.

Now for a look at the weapon.  He removed his micro-camera from his vest, and slowly stood up.  The mobile suit was amazing.  Large and detailed it looked like an ancient warrior.  The yellow and brown paint helped the illusion.  It held two sickles, huge and deadly.  At its feet…Shit!  Simon ducked back down.

At its feet stood a short fat scientist and Quatre.  Did they see him?  He was so stupid!  Letting the mobile suit capture his attention.  He waited in dread for the alarm to sound. 


	2. Conclusion

On L1, Green-shirt, the boy who would soon be known as Heero Yuy, stood under his capsule.  Something wasn't right.  He had an uneasy feeling.  He walked up the ramp to the door of the Gundam.  He pulled the lever and the door came open with a clank.  He stepped in and sat down.  The uneasy feeling continued to plague him.  He scanned his cockpit.  Wait!  Did he leave that training disk right side up? He did!  He remembered doing it clearly!  Someone had been here.  Maybe they were still here.

He jumped from his seat and ran out of the capsule. Only he and the scientist were ever in this warehouse.  He hoped it was just one of the others checking things out, but something told him it was not.

He pulled the gun from his spine holster.  Clicked the safety off, and walked to the center of the warehouse.  Maybe, they were still here.  He thought he heard something to the left.  He swung himself towards the ammo crates and began to scan them.

"What is it, boy?" Doctor J asked, walking over to him.

"Someone is here," replied Green-shirt.

Doctor J scoffed. "If someone was over there, I'd see their heat signature.  Those crates are as cold as the ammo in them."

"I heard it," said Green-shirt in monotone.

 Peter, Middie's younger brother, choose that moment to call her on her ear mike receiver/transmitter. "Middie, what's happening? Are you alright?"  But Middie didn't dare answer.  Green-shirt couldn't possibly hear Peter, but he could hear a whispered response.

"There.  I heard it again," said Green-shirt.

"Go investigate if you wish, boy." Doctor J went over to the computer terminal near the capsule, dismissing Green-shirt's suspicions. 

Could he hear Peter? Middie asked herself.  Impossible.  But as she watched, he turned and started right towards her hiding place.  What kind of boy is he? She asked herself as she disabled the ear piece.  Her heart began to pound as she watched him approach, for Middie thought about that soldier and that bloody knife.  He would find her.  There was no way out of this spot without exposing herself. The next closest shadow was at least ten feet away and her climbing rope was three times that distance. 

She had to think fast.

The thunderous report of Green-shirt's gun filled the silence of the warehouse.  The edge of the crate over her head exploded in a rain of wooden splinters. 

"That's a crate of ammo," said Green-shirt's cold voice.  "You don't want to be there when my next bullet hits.  Come out."

Something came sliding through the darkness at Green-shirt's feet.  He jumped back and looked down pointing his gun.  It was a badge.  

"Flash," a female voice called.

The button exploded in a blinding flash of phosphorous, and Green-shirt was looking straight at it.

Middie made her dash.  She ran for her rope, she did a flying leap into the air, flipped and snapped the rope into place.  Instantly, she was soaring for the ceiling.  She reached the cross wire, snapped on and pushed off for her escape wall.

Doctor J ran over to Green-shirt.  

"Listen, boy," He called. "She'll be at bearing 40 and 50 degrees in three seconds."

Green-shirt's gun arm pointed even as he rubbed his painful eyes.  Three. Two. One.  He fired.

Middie felt the wrenching pain sear her shoulder.  He hit me!  Blind!  Her arm dropped in pain and she bounced off the wall with it, unable to stop her glide.  More pain raced through her as she hung there stunned.

Voices from her training years surfaced in her head.

"Pain is a tool of your enemy.  They will use it against you.  Only you have the power to let them."

She remembered the pain trainings.  Her instructors used both virtual and actual pain.  This was minimal compared to that.

Her bloody hand reached for the wall line.  The shoulder wound screamed at her.  She ignored it.  She could hear pounding feet below her.  Soon they would have a clear shot.

She snapped the line in place and began to ascend.  Once she made it into the darkness of the wall, she'd be home free.   As she squeezed passed the first floor, bullets hit the cement near her.  Her arms moved like things detached from her—slide, pull, slide, pull.

She couldn't go out the way she came in.  They would've already seen that light in the wall.  They'd be waiting for her.

She remembered her earpiece.  She turned it back on. 

"Sis, please report!  Sis!  What's happening? Oh God! Sister!"

"Brother.  I've been shot.  I'm in the wall, heading up.  Can't make it out on my own.  Begin escape plan Sierra Delta."

"Roger, sister.  Hold on."

Escape plan sierra delta meant she had to get up to the third floor bathroom wall and over to the handicap stall.  Peter would meet her there and cut an escape hole.  They would slip out using a disguise.  She'd just cleared the main floor, when she heard sounds of pursuit.

"She's in the wall, this is her entry point!"

"Stand aside." That was the unmistakable sound of Green-shirt.  She heard him begin to climb in the wall.  He was free climbing!  She pulled herself quickly up into the second floor.  Just one more.  Then it was up to Peter.

Concentrate Middie.  Slide. Pull. Slide. Pull.   Hurry Peter!

Another shot rang out.  The wall in front of her face exploded.  She felt something graze her head.  Blood began to run down her face.  He was free climbing in the pitch black, and shooting at her!  Inhuman!  How could she win against that?

She would soon be dead.  She'd finally lost.  Tears she couldn't control seeped from her eyes. Slide. Pull. Slide. Pull. Gulp, sob. Slide. Pull.

She reached it the third floor and pulled herself by.  This one was the narrowest by far.  She wiggled and scrapped and twisted.  She was in throbbing pain by the time she got through.  She swung over to the handicap stall plumbing and braced herself there against the wall.  Now her fate was in someone else's hands.  Although she hoped otherwise, she knew it would be Green-shirt's.  He was climbing too fast.  He was that good.  He was the real weapon on L1, and that knowledge would die with her.  She could hear him struggling with the floor she just passed.  Please, don't let him see me, she thought.

Another shot rang out.

It missed her entirely.  She tensed.  He would not miss a second time.  The wall behind her crumbled.  Strong hands and arms wrapped around her and pulled her out onto the third floor bathroom.  Peter!  Through blurry eyes, Middie looked up to see herself looking down at her.

Then, all went black.

No alarm sounded in the Winner Mansion. Simon stopped mentally kicking himself long enough to realize he could hear the gentle voices below him in conversation.  They talked of maintenance and tactics on the battlefield.

They hadn't noticed him!

Thank goodness!  What the hell was the Winner heir doing down there anyway?  Surely the proclaimed number one pacifist of the colonies, wouldn't allow his own heir to be involved?  Besides, Quatre seemed so kind and friendly.  Not only that, but he befriended Ensign Simon Thompson of the Alliance Military Force!  He just didn't add up.  These Winners were definitely not turning out as expected.

Simon attached an extender to his micro-camera.  He slowly raised it over the edge and snapped a few pictures of the mobile suit.  He could see through the viewfinder, that Quatre and the other man weren't even facing this way.

He was too damn lucky for his own good.  He removed a bug from his vest and carefully attached it under the counter for the terminals.

Carefully, Simon crawled back towards the door.  He knew now that they could see the door move if they looked this way, so he only opened it enough to slip out.

The metal stairs creaked and groaned again, but he did his best to move silently on them.  Using his mirror under the door, he checked the hall.  Empty.

He slipped out.  He walked quietly back to the bathroom, entered it, flushed, and noisily came out.  Perfect.

He checked his watch.  Six minutes.  Not bad.

Maizah was waiting for him with a smile.  "Okay?" she asked.

"Yes," he patted his chest.  "Remind me never to do that again!"

She giggled. 

Green-shirt climbed out of the hole of the third floor bathroom.  Blood was everywhere.  It was an easy trail to follow.  He'd hit her twice. That he was sure of.  She would not get away.

The trail of blood led to the sinks.  There were bloody paper towels on the floor.  She must have tried to stop the wounds.  But she was in a hurry and a small trail of blood still led out the door.

He opened the door quickly.  Scanning both directions.  Empty.

The blood trail led to the left.   He followed it.  It stopped at the elevator.  Hmmm, that was obvious not the way she went.  Nobody would get into an elevator like that.  She couldn't go down, there were men down there, she'd be a sitting duck. Going up would trap her more.

He turned and scanned the hall.  At the opposite end, a janitor's closet stood open with a cleaning cart in front.  There!

As he neared it, he heard running water and the soft sound of music playing.  As he peered inside he saw a blond girl filling a mop bucket.  She was listening to headphones.

The tiny room smelled sharply of way too much bleach.

Two gunshot wounds.  This couldn't be her!  He looked at her short sleeves, his target had been wearing a full-body suit.

Except, this girl had the right size and shape.  It could be her.

One way to find out.  Hiding his gun, he placed his hand on her shoulder and squeezed.  Nothing but bra-strap. 

"Oh!" said the girl, turning around.  She slipped the headphones down.  "You scared me!  Was there something you needed?"

"I'm sorry.  Please clean the top floor first today."

"Um, okay.  I can do that."

He turned and walked out, then he ran for the elevator.  It was the only possibility left.  Maybe she was that stupid.

Peter dressed as Middie watched him get onto the elevator with a satisfied smirk.  He looked at the cleaning cart with worry on his face.  Time to get Middie out.  He pushed it toward the service elevator.

Fifty minutes later, Middie came-to on the hard surface of a table.  She felt a large bandage encircling her head, and someone was messing with her shoulder.  Pain caused her to gasp and her body convulsed.  She cried out.

"Middie!  Middie!  Calm down.  You're out, we're safe, but you gotta let me clean this wound," Peter's voice assured her.

"Peter!" Middie gasped.  "I thought I was dead, Peter."

"Well, you're not.  Now hold still."

"No!  Send the data, Peter!  It's a hot-potato!" Middie cried.

"That's the first thing I did, now calm down." Peter was pushing her arm into the table forcibly.   Middie relaxed.  With the data gone, they were neutral again.   If you had the data, you could still be killed for it.  It was, as the agents called it, the proverbial "hot potato".  Once it was gone, you could still be killed but it would be pointless slaughter.  Remove the motivation to track you down, and the enemies were less likely to waste time on you.  Only slightly less.

Boy, had she underestimated the colony resistance!  They had trained a Robert, a child assassin, only Green-shirt was ten-times the killer Robert was.  He could shoot blind.  He could hunt her mere minutes after looking directly at a phosphorous flash!  He could free climb and shoot in the darkness of a confined space!  He was inhuman, unreal, a truly powerful weapon.

Middie wondered if all five of the pilots were like Green-shirt.  Following closely on the tail of that thought was…

"Simon!" Middie gasped.  She'd sent him into one of there lairs without Peter there to pull him out!  "Peter!  Call Simon, tell him to get out.  These people are dangerous!  He has no back up there!"

 "Oh Shit!  Simon!  I forgot about him!"  Peter ran over to his computer terminal and grabbed the mic.  "Brother, come in Brother.  Please report!  Sister says get out!  It's too dangerous, Brother, do you copy?"

Simon heard all right, but he was too busy doing a very important task.  Kissing Maizah Winner.

He'd spent a very pleasant evening with Maizah and Quatre.  The dinner was fabulous and the singing was fun.  Both of the Winners had beautiful voices, and they complemented his enough to assuage his fears.  He left at the same time to meet the curfew.  Maizah had been sad to see him go, and also to learn that he shipped out that next morning.  He promised to write, and they exchanged contact information.

Simon had almost disappeared down the street, when he heard pounding feet coming up behind him.

"Simon!" Maizah called.

He turned to see her running up to him.  Breathless, flushed and beautiful. 

He smiled at her.  "Did I forget something?" he asked.

"No…It just I…well, I…" she stammered. She stepped in closer and look up at him.  The signal was clear.

"I'm not very good at this," Simon lied to her. Kissing a woman well was something both he and Peter were taught on their third mission by an older female spy, Gret.  She thought teaching them was entertaining.  He was glad of it now.

"Neither am I," whispered Maizah.

Just like he was taught, Simon reached up and stroked her cheek with his fingers.  He let his eyes scan her face with just the proper amount of wonder on his face. 

He carefully leaned in and placed his lips on hers.  She closed her eyes and moved her lips into the kiss.  It felt wonderful to Simon, even better as he watched the reaction on her face.  She flushed and her eyes moved behind her eyelids.   He was really starting to enjoy himself when Peter's message killed the moment.

He moaned to cover the noise, in case she heard Peter.  Their heads were close together after all.   He pulled away and stepped back.  It was too soon for her.  She moved toward him.

"Maizah, stop.  Or I'll never leave."  He looked at her then, deep into her eyes.  He let his body language say the want he had for her.

She flushed even brighter.  She seemed to glow with happiness.

"Good bye, Simon." She stepped back and put her hands behind her.

"Good bye, beautiful Maizah." Simon backed away, then turned to walk up the street.  He turned to look back at her three times as he left.  She stayed there, watching him leave.

When he was finally out of sight, he leaned against the building and sighed.  He was going to have to leave the wooing of women part of spying to the movie star spies.  It was way too complicated and hard on the young male system.  Gret was right though, women respond well to that style of kiss. 

Peter had stopped talking, when he heard Simon's lusty plea to Maizah.  The earpiece had remained silent for the last ten minutes.

"Brother, come in Brother," Simon said.

"I'm here.  Sister's been shot.  She's okay, repeat, she's okay.  I got her out, but she was worried about you." Peter's voice was distant but clear.

"Tell her, my side went smooth.  The link is in place.  I got digital art to transmit to you this evening."

"Make it as soon as possible, Brother.  This one's a hot potato."

"Roger."

Peter turned away from the microphone and returned to Middie's side.  

"He's fine Middie, said to say his mission went smooth." Peter picked up the disinfectant. "In fact, I think I interrupted him kissing!"

Middie smiled, then grimaced as Peter began cleaning her wound again.  "That's not fair." She clenched her teeth. "Next time I get kisses and he gets bullets okay?"

Peter chuckled.  "Well, we've still got three more mobile suits to find."

Middie frowned. "You know, I underestimated them.  I screwed up big.  These next three mobile suits…we must be cautious.  I learned a lesson here, I'm not going to forget."

"You're being too hard on yourself."  Peter folded up two sterile pads and began to secure them over the wound.

"Maybe. Maybe not."  Middie looked out the window to Henson Towers.  She'd nearly died today.  It would not happen again.  Not to her or either of her brothers.

--The End--


End file.
